


On the Nature of Books and Witchers

by Hallianna



Series: Of Other Than Bardic Beginnings [7]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beginnings AU, Books, Fade to Black, Fluff, Jaskier is a BAMF, Librarian Jaskier, M/M, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, jaskier origins au, just boys kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29296131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hallianna/pseuds/Hallianna
Summary: Another Jaskier/Geralt origins AU where Jaskier is a trained librarian.“Jaskier?” Geralt asked, eyebrow raised. “Like the flower?”Julian - or Jaskier - huffed and crossed his arms. “Yes, well, Julian is my birth name but not the one I claim. Besides, what did a jaskier ever do to you?”The man had a quick wit, Geralt would give him that. And it was a personality trait that would be useful given what Geralt was here to hire him for. “Got a job for you,” he said. “It would be in service to the Witchers.”And just like that, Jaskier blossomed under his attention, almost preening. “Oh, now that is intriguing. And lucky enough for you, my schedule just opened up.” He turned to yell back, “Because someone at this godsdamned place seems to not appreciate my talents!”To which the reply came, “Bah, leave! See if you make it out there, you soft-bellied arsehole!”And while the students around them tittered, Geralt said, “Are you familiar with Kaer Morhen?”
Relationships: Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Of Other Than Bardic Beginnings [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069358
Comments: 17
Kudos: 297





	On the Nature of Books and Witchers

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to coconutjelly596 for the idea!
> 
> My first M-rating for this series, since not EVERYTHING has to be about sex, right? (I know, it was difficult for me but dammit, I need a palate cleanser of cute.) But having two idiots fall for each other is pretty adorable, too. Plenty of tropey goodness here, including one of my all time favorites: “It’s cold and my fire doesn’t work/there’s only one bed!”
> 
> EDIT to add: I am a trained librarian so there was no way I wasn’t going to write this at some point.

“Absolutely not! That is not where the archived copies of the Treatises of Longriver go!”

“And I’m telling you this system is madness! How is anyone supposed to find anything on any shelf if it is not indexed in multiple ways and easily cross-referenced?”

Geralt grimaced at the raised voices echoing across the tall ceilings of the Oxenfurt University library. Though to his credit, the students seated at polished oak tables scattered with heavy tomes, canvas knapsacks, and various quills and pieces of parchment looked just as scandalized at a fully armed and armored Witcher in their presence as they did at the yelling that was happening.

He liked the library and its well-worn shelves and scuffed wood floors and scents of wood oil, old paper, and ink. It reminded him a bit of the library at Kaer Morhen, which was the reason he was here.

Geralt pulled out the tattered business card from his belt and eyed it over once more, then compared it to the large desk in the middle of the reference room. There were no nameplates or other indications of who was working at the moment, so he’d have to inquire and hope this Julian Pankratz was still about, even though it was getting toward evening.

And as he approached the desk, the yelling started up once again. “You….you _cad_ ! How dare you think your system is superior to mine? I have never been so disrespected in my _life_!”

“Your life? Your entire, what….twenty five years? Boy, when you were being shat out of your mother’s cunny, I wrote the very system you are denigrating! It is used the Continent over because it. IS. SUPERIOR!”

Geralt bit down on a snort of incredulity. What the hells were they arguing about? Books? How could books make anyone so angry? 

His hand hovered over the little bell on the desk but before he could hit it, a man came stomping around the corner, shrugging into a heavy wool coat, his eyes blazing with righteous anger. Geralt sized him up quickly. He was young, but not the brash self-esteem of idle youth; instead he held himself tall and proud, so maybe thirties. He was wearing a fine doublet and trousers that spoke of a professional’s salary, considering its deep navy trim and embroidery. And in a strange, off-handed casualness that struck Geralt as curious, the man’s hair was too long to be fashionable and flopped over his eyes almost comically.

He was also spitting mad and as such, nearly ran into the stone still form of the Witcher.

“Oh!” The man stepped back, startled. The angry pink spots on his cheeks began to fade and he cocked his head. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

 _Now_ Geralt snorted. “Most people have the opposite problem.”

“Indeed.” Now the man gave him an assessing look. “Can I help you?”

Geralt held out the business card. “Looking for this Julian Pankratz. Adrienna T’lane recommended him for a job.”

The man’s face crumpled and he snatched the card out of Geralt’s hand. “Melitele’s _arse_ , she knows I don’t use that name anymore!” With a sigh, he pocketed the card and produced a new one, similar in styling to the one he’d whisked away. But this one read ‘Jaskier Pankratz’. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt asked, eyebrow raised. “Like the flower?”

Julian - or Jaskier - huffed and crossed his arms. “Yes, well, Julian is my birth name but not the one I claim. Besides, what did a jaskier ever do to you?”

The man had a quick wit, Geralt would give him that. And it was a personality trait that would be useful given what Geralt was here to hire him for. “Got a job for you,” he said. “It would be in service to the Witchers.”

And just like that, Jaskier blossomed under his attention, almost preening. “Oh, now that is intriguing. And lucky enough for you, my schedule just opened up.” He turned to yell back, “Because someone at this godsdamned place seems to not appreciate my talents!”

To which the reply came, “Bah, leave! See if you make it out there, you soft-bellied arsehole!”

And while the students around them tittered, Geralt said, “Are you familiar with Kaer Morhen?”

* * *

_Two weeks later_

“What a sight,” Jaskier breathed as he stared up at the crumbling walls of Kaer Morhen. “I truly thought, at least for a little while, you were going to tell me this was a fairy story you Witchers invented as part of your extended lore.”

Geralt huffed a laugh. He liked Jaskier, despite the fact that he tended toward stuffy and used too many words. But he tried to see the old fortress through the human’s eyes and it did have its charms. For Geralt, it was big beds and roaring fires and the scent of his brothers and Vesemir’s herbs and that deep, incalculable feel of home.

But for a human, one of the few who had ever stepped foot on the overgrown, snow-covered grounds, it probably did look a bit magical.

Jaskier rubbed his hands together and turned to Geralt. “Well, I am eager to get started. Just point me in the right direction and I’ll have your library shored up in no time.”

Geralt shook his head, eyes drifted to the cloudy sky. “Those are snow clouds. It’s early in the season but it happens. So we’ll be snowed in soon. There’s no rush, scribe.” He shifted, hefting his pack higher on his shoulder as Roach whickered at him. “And the first few nights are for getting drunk and Gwent. Lambert will try to get you to play so unless you’re good and know how to cheat, I recommend sitting out.”

Those endearing pink spots of anger started to blossom on Jaskier’s cheeks. “I am a librarian,” he said sternly. So much that Geralt expected him to stomp his foot to accentuate the statement. “Scribes copy, librarians archive, restore, and provide access to knowledge. Knowledge that everyone should have, not be locked away in dusty old rooms.”

Geralt noticed he avoided talk of what the next few nights had to bring. There was a nervous energy about Jaskier, one Geralt had chalked up to excitement. Now he wondered if it was more. Either way, he was curious. But he also needed Jaskier to realize how serious his employers were about secrecy, so he narrowed his eyes and said, “Except what you’re here to do. That was part of the agreement.”

Jaskier blanched. “I didn’t mean the Witcher library, Geralt. It was a broad statement, not applicable here.” A few snowflakes drifted down from the sky and landed in his hair. “Apologies. I get rather riled up when talking about access to information.”

“I noticed.”

Jaskier looked away from the Witcher’s intense amber gaze and Geralt could smell the embarrassment wafting from him. But he did try to rally as he said, “Yes, well…. shall we?”

Fighting back a chuckle, Geralt kept Jaskier close as he stabled Roach. Jaskier peppered him with questions about the fortress, many of which Geralt could only partially answer. “Vesemir’s the keeper of this place,” Geralt finally said as he steered the human toward the keep’s west door. “You’ll get more out of him as long as you don’t annoy him.”

Jaskier huffed, but he was smiling. “Please. I am the soul of discretion. And librarians know when keeping quiet is more valuable than speaking.”

“So what was that outburst when we met?”

He waved a hand in the air. “Just an old grouch who couldn’t admit when his ‘tried and true’ system was no longer up to modern standards.”

“Hmmm.”

Geralt pushed open the wide double doors and breathed in the scent of burning wood, ale, and well-worn leather. Immediately the dark haired man seated at a large table set aside the dagger he’d been polishing and strode toward them, his steps eating ground quickly. “Geralt! You’re a day early.”

The two men embraced and despite their onlooker, Geralt took the time to press his face against Eskel’s neck and breathe him in; frost and cold pines and fresh bread. He’d warned Jaskier about the peculiarity of the Wolves, and how much touch and scent meant. To his credit, the librarian hadn’t batted so much as an eye as he’d shrugged and said, “I went to university in Oxenfurt, Geralt. I’ve seen stranger things than men being close with each other.”

There had been something in the man’s tone that made Geralt wonder, but he’d let it go in the moment; and there would be time to puzzle out that flash of something in Jaskier’s steel blue eyes.

“Missed you,” Eskel muttered into Geralt’s hair as he became well-aware of the scent of the man standing at their side. With a bump of his forehead to Geralt’s, Eskel reluctantly let his brother go and put out a hand. “And you’re our new librarian. Eskel, a pleasure.”

Jaskier and Eskel shook hands and Geralt didn’t miss the way the human’s eyes lit up with interest as he stared at the bigger man. Not even Eskel’s scars seemed to bother Jaskier, which was a point in his favor. Or ten points, really, since Eskel usually took care to hide them except while at Kaer Morhen. 

As Eskel and Jaskier chatted, Geralt looked up into the bare beams and stone. “Haven’t seen him all day,” Eskel muttered, watching Geralt’s head swivel to and fro. “He was a little riled when he got here. Even more pissy than normal.”

“I can smell him,” Geralt said just as quietly, earning him a nod of acknowledgement from Eskel.

And as if he overheard they were discussing him, Lambert dropped soundlessly from the second story balcony. Jaskier let out a yelp and started into Eskel, who steadied him with broad hands. “Whoa, it’s okay,” he said soothingly, running his palms over Jaskier’s shoulders. 

Scowl etched on his face as if he’d been born that way, Lambert leered at Jaskier. “Who’s the new toy?”

Geralt smacked him soundly on the ear, making Lambert growl. “Watch it. He’s the librarian Vesemir wanted to archive our history. He’s an _employee_ , not someone to fuck around with.”

The leer dropped from Lambert’s face but Geralt saw Jaskier’s eyes widen every so slightly as Lambert leaned in and sniffed him. “He smells like you.”

“Not that way, you idiot,” Geralt said, lashing out to pop him in the head again. 

Lambert ducked and danced backwards, chuckling. “Got what I wanted, huh?”

“A rise out of Geralt, I’m assuming?” Jaskier’s voice was quiet, but his words were steady. He was watching all of them the way a field researcher observed a rare creature, those keen eyes tracking every little movement and cataloging it all away. 

“Hey, the human’s quick!” And just like that, Lambert was in front of Jaskier, hand held out in greeting. “You’ll do all right here.”

“Just don’t play Gwent with him,” Eskel warned, making Jaskier laugh.

“Oh, Geralt already warned me that this one,” and Jaskier pointed at Lambert, “loves to cheat. Gwent’s not really my game, anyways.”

Eskel hummed and looked Jaskier up and down. Geralt knew that look. _Reassessment_. “And what is your game?” his brother asked softly, amber gaze suddenly keen on Jaskier.

Jaskier shrugged. “I’m an academic. Ever known an academic to not play chess?”

Eskel grinned. “We’ll get along just fine.”

* * *

That night, Jaskier was given the torchlight tour of the library by Vesemir, whom he quickly decided was definitely the father of this strange little group of Witchers. And while he and Vesemir couldn’t have been more different, they had one very important thing in common - a love of books and reading.

“Melitele’s tits,” Jaskier whispered as Vesemir opened the library door and escorted him inside. The old Witcher had spent most of the day in this room, so it was already lit by various candles and lanterns, the heady scent of old paper and ink swirling around like the dust motes that danced on the light.

“Glad to see you appreciate it. She’s not in the best shape, but that’s why you’re here.” Vesemir led him down the center aisle, where large, battered oak tables held court to stacks of tomes and curling parchment. The shelves on either sides of the tables were jammed full and Jaskier wanted to wince at the peeling leather covers and crumbling pages on display. “I’ve done what I can, but I’m no archivist,” Vesemir admitted, his tone a little sheepish. He motioned to the final table where book binding materials sat, waiting. “I think we managed to get everything. But if you do need more supplies, let me know. I can get them sent over.”

Jaskier nodded and let his fingers trail over a stack of oxblood leather. It was of good quality and would serve well for binding larger tomes, the deep grain of the leather more stiff and able to contain thicker volumes. After Vesemir let him examine some of the shelves and the rest of the supplies, he steered Jaskier from the room and back into the grand hall, where Eskel was uncorking several bottles of ale and wine.

The fire in the massive hearth roared with life, the heat it supplied making his face itch, but it was freezing in the mountains and Jaskier was very grateful every room had a working fireplace. His bedroom had a lovely granite hearth that was well stocked; he’d be cozy all season. With a shiver, Jaskier edged closer to the fire, coming to stand near Geralt.

“Got everything you need?” Geralt asked, turning bright amber eyes on him. 

_So maybe the shivers weren’t completely from the cold_. Jaskier smiled, trying not to think too closely of the Witcher. Or think on any of them too closely; these men were big, strong, and gorgeous in different ways and Jaskier was, deep at his core, a sucker for a set of pretty eyes and broad hands.

He glanced down at Geralt, who was seated in a massive carved wooden chair, looking much like a king staring pensively into the fire. Something deep within him flickered to life. Maybe it was the relaxed way Geralt held himself here, in his home, surrounded by his family. Maybe it was the sight of thick thighs encased in leather, knees spread wide. 

Almost in invitation. 

Or maybe it was a dozen other, smaller things that spoke to his long-on-the-shelf libido, but Jaskier, in that moment, blinked. And Geralt noticed. One eyebrow raised ever so slightly and the Witcher’s eyes narrowed. Before he could think on the slight shift in Geralt’s frame, or the way the leather on his body creaked in response, Jaskier nodded. “Yes, all is good. I’ve got my supplies and will set about work tomorrow.”

He rambled on about cataloging everything based on a classification system of condition and topic, knowing Geralt was probably already bored out of his mind. But a quick look told him otherwise; the Witcher was watching him intently, nodding every now and then.

“Are you using the Sussex conditioning method?”

Jaskier whirled, an answer on his lips before he realized Eskel was walking toward him, a mug outstretched in offering. “A Witcher and a scholar,” he said teasingly, feeling his face flush at Lambert’s little chuckle.

“Yeah don’t let the ugly mug fool you,” the youngest Witcher said as he came in with plates of food. “Eskel’s actually got a brain in that thick skull.” 

Jaskier watched in amusement as Geralt chucked a bread roll at Lambert, who ducked and fired one back. They were a little like kids, constantly poking and prodding each other to get a rise. Or maybe that was mostly Lambert. It was on Jaskier’s lips to give Eskel a compliment - which is something he’d been wanting to do all day, really - but Eskel must have sensed Jaskier’s hesitance. “That’s just Lambert’s way of expressing love, being insulting and complimentary at the same time.”

“Oh, right, well….in any case, Sussex is fine for places with proper archives; temperature and moisture control at the top of that list of course.”

Eskel nodded. “But aren’t Sussex’s restoration guidelines just as important?”

“To a degree, but those guidelines are based on the idea that you have a proper archive.” Jaskier motioned to the floor above. “This place has no proper heating and is more ventilated than a barn. My plan is to take the various guidelines - Sussex included - and put together a custom system that can be maintained long after this winter and accounts for the truly unrepentant conditions here.”

As he and Eskel took their seats and talked shop over dinner of hearty stew and bread, Jaskier realized the other Witchers were watching them closely. At a break in the conversation, he smiled at them self-consciously. “Apologies. I usually can’t talk so openly about my interests.”

Lambert swallowed a mouthful of bread. “Books get you hot, huh?”

Jaskier spluttered his sip of ale, making Geralt chuckle. “I’m sorry?”

“Nah it’s all good. Everyone’s got their thing.” Lambert began to circle a knot in the tabletop with his index finger, his eyes never straying from Jaskier’s. “Most stuffshirts are too caught up in their heads but you’re quick. And you clearly have eyes that are attached to a working cock, cause you’ve been giving the White Wolf here the look all night.” The Witcher ignored the way Vesemir coughed a warning into his fist. “Did he sleep curled up next to you in that cave on The Killer?” He leaned forward, hand now sliding across the table toward Jaskier. “Did he lend you some of that famous Witcher heat?”

Jaskier felt his face flush at the lewdness of Lambert’s words, but Geralt was correct; he had a quick wit and more importantly, the wherewithal to use it. “And if he didn’t, are you offering?” he shot back, batting his eyelashes at Lambert, who grinned. “I admit, Witcher is a mark I’ve not yet added to my bedpost but there’s always a first time.”

The silence around them swelled, and then was broken, like a branch snapped underfoot, as Eskel snorted and said, “Got you there, Lambert.”

Lambert’s grin grew even wider, and took on a crooked air that Jaskier immediately liked. “Shit, Geralt, you found a mouthy one. I like it.”

Jaskier cast his gaze over at Geralt, whose mouth was twitched up in a knowing smile. But those amber eyes were raking over him in a more intimate fashion, like the brush of bare fingertips on Jaskier’s back. He fought back a shiver and dug into his meal with relish.

* * *

As the blizzard moved in, closing the small world of Kaer Morhen in a blanket of pure white snow, Jaskier got to work. He spent most of his days largely alone, the texts and histories of the Witchers to occupy his mind and his hands. He found time for chess with Eskel or discussions of alchemy with Vesemir (who often swung by to check on his progress). He even got up the nerve to ask Lambert for some basic sword training. But the flirting of that first night all but subsided as everyone settled into the long winter and the work that went along with it. He’d come down out of the library every night, covered in dust and ink, fingers sore from binding books or transcribing crumbling pages, but he was happy. 

Happier than ever, if he was honest with himself. The Witchers were good company, or at least some of them were. Jaskier didn’t see much of Geralt the first few weeks, except at meals. The White Wolf seemed to be keeping his distance, and while confused, Jaskier tried not to take it personally. Their hike up The Killer had been largely silent save for when Jaskier had questions about Kaer Morhen and the texts stored in the library. He had quickly assessed that Geralt wasn’t one for small talk, so he filled that need with Eskel and Lambert, who were more than happy to chat with him.

But he wanted Geralt’s friendship, too. And he found some part of him wanted something else - softer, more heated, more intimate. Geralt was fascinating and handsome and Jaskier was tempted more than once by a wayward fantasy. 

He was particularly fond of the one where he pressed Geralt into a corner and kissed him senseless, until he was lifted by the back of his thighs and trapped between Geralt’s body and the wall.

As more snow fell and the temperature dropped, Jaskier awoke one morning wracked by shivers. The fire in his room had gone out, not even embers glowing in the ashes, and he felt completely frozen to his core. He shifted in bed, trying to burrow deeper in the covers, but every attempt made him that much colder.

After his fifth attempt or so, he was calculating how many layers he could wear at one time when a knock sounded at his door. “Jaskier? Is your fire still going?”

The voice was muffled but it was clearly Geralt. “Afraid not,” he managed to chatter out between shivers.

His door cracked open and then Geralt swore softly as their eyes connected. “All right, you can’t stay in here. Something got caught in some of the chimneys and it cut off the fires in yours and Eskel’s rooms. Eskel’s with Lambert, and I figured you could huddle in mine until the storm passes and we can get outside to check. Vesemir’s in Novigrad with an old friend, since he said his ‘old bones’ couldn’t take the cold with no fires.” And with no warning, Geralt crossed the room and scooped Jaskier, blankets and all, up in his arms. “You can’t stay here,” he repeated, this time softly and with concern etched on his face.

Jaskier couldn’t find the energy to protest, and didn’t know if he wanted to. All he could think about was not being cold, and Geralt was a delightful, if not all-encompassing, source of heat. Held bridal style in those strong arms, Jaskier buried his cold nose against Geralt’s collarbone and let himself be carried down the hall. Geralt huffed at him as soon as his nose touched bare skin, but didn’t protest.

Geralt’s room was, by contrast, deliciously toasty and Jaskier groaned as soon as the heat hit his face. “I’m never leaving,” he moaned from his nest of blankets as Geralt deposited him gently on the bed. “Your room is so much warmer.” He could already feel himself thawing against the immense output of heat from both Geralt and the fire.

Despite his concern, Geralt chuckled. “My fireplace works.”

“No, it’s actually warmer. I can feel my toes for the first time in weeks.”

As Jaskier began unwinding himself from his covers, he put one foot out into the heat of the room and wiggled his toes, as if to show Geralt that, yes, they were thawing. A hand snaked out and grasped his bare ankle. He froze, eyes wide as Geralt began moving his hand up and down his foot. “Did you think I was joking?” he managed to spit out, not at all distracted by the warmth of those fingers.

“No, but you don’t make your hatred of the cold a secret.” The hand moved again, the thumb pressing in soft circles on the thin skin of the outside of his ankle. “Just your feet are still cold?”

The blankets dropped away from his shoulders as Jaskier stared at Geralt’s hand on his foot. He knew his face was flushed, his hair messy from sleep, and as he glanced down, his nightshirt was buttoned one hole off the entire way down, leaving a gap at the bottom. And yet Geralt was looking at him - staring, actually -with focused intent. Those amber eyes bore a heat of their own and Jaskier felt himself be reeled in. 

The thing that fell out of his mouth wasn’t nearly as sexy as the way Geralt was looking at him, however. “I have barely seen you since we arrived, Geralt. I thought I’d accidentally insulted you somehow.”

Geralt blinked, shook his head. But his thumb didn’t stop those slow, dragging circles over Jaskier’s ankle. And now his rough palm slid down, cupping Jaskier’s foot gently. Cradling it. “No, you didn’t. There’s always something in the hills around here that needs killed.”

“For you to be gone all day, every day? For me to only see you at dinner?”

One eyebrow raised, an expression Jaskier felt deep in his chest. “Didn’t know we’d agreed to anything personal, Jaskier. You’re here to do a job.”

Jaskier wanted throw his hands up in frustration, but he was still half trapped by the blankets. “I can’t tell if you’re stringing me along or you’re truly this bad at being a person! Geralt, honestly.” He growled a little, exasperated, and when Geralt hummed at him, he’d had enough. The sudden tightness in his chest had nothing to do with the lingering cold of his skin or the heat of the room.

It did, however, have _everything_ to do with one infuriating Witcher.

Jaskier launched himself at Geralt, who barely caught him. Witchers were fast, but Jaskier had the element of surprise and he leveraged that to push Geralt down to the bed, his thighs straddling the outside of his hips. “You….you _flirt_!” he accused, eyes blazing. “All of you, actually, but you were the worst that first night. The way you look at me, the way you talk to me, the way you brush by me. All of it! It makes me crazy and I’ve been good and done my work every day, but when you kept leaving, I thought I’d given off some signal to make you turn away. And now you touch me like that, like it’s supposed to mean nothing. I’m not a thing to be toyed with, Witcher.” With a grunt, he shoved his palms down onto Geralt’s chest.

And was caught by two strong hands wrapping around his wrists. But Geralt wasn’t angry or upset. He actually looked embarrassed. “I know,” Geralt said softly, and it was like having the wind knocked out of his anger. “I stayed away because I needed to.” Jaskier opened his mouth to respond hotly but Geralt stopped him. “You are a temptation, the very thing I’m supposed to avoid. I took hunts to get my mind off you, hoping it would help. It made it worse. I’d come back and smell you all over the keep and it drove me crazy.”

That soft, deep voice rattled Jaskier’s cage almost as much as having his hands held in place on Geralt’s broad, strong chest. “What? No, wait, I heard you properly. But still… _what_?”

Geralt let go of his hands and brought his own to Jaskier’s hips, his thumbs tracing the wings of bone just below thin clothes and thinner skin. “You’d go to bed and Eskel and Lambert would tease me nonstop about trying too hard to avoid you. That I should just bed you and get it out of my system.” He grumbled something Jaskier couldn’t make out - especially not over the roaring in his ears at Geralt’s confession - and then looked away, as if ashamed of his own feelings.

Jaskier’s brow furrowed and he shook his head, like trying to clear water out of his ears. “Wait so it’s the _opposite_ of what I thought? You want me so you avoided me?”

Geralt swallowed hard and Jaskier tracked the bob of his throat. He was reeled in a little more, tempted to lean down and lick a stripe over that skin. “Witchers aren’t supposed to want like that,” he said, as if that explained everything. “Especially not me.”

Jaskier wanted to shake him. Or kiss him. Or do both. He really wasn’t quite sure. “Ugh! Why? Why are you, of all people, not supposed to want someone else? You’re a Witcher, Geralt, not a….a….chort or a unicorn! Or a, fuck, I don’t know, a choritcorn!” He was getting riled, frustration and surprise and need all bound up and tugging him in so he bounced helplessly in Geralt’s wake.

That oh-so-expressive eyebrow went up in a severe arch and Jaskier swore he saw a smile tugging at the corners of Geralt’s mouth. “A chorticorn? Find that mythical creature in a Witcher tome, did you?”

He curled his fingers into Geralt’s thin linen shirt, pulling himself down so they were almost nose to nose. “I’m going to forget you said that. And also, you do realize that we could have been kissing for _weeks_ if you hadn’t been a stubborn, self-aggravandizing arsehole, right?”

And then Geralt kissed him and all other thoughts fled his mind as the Witcher toppled them to the bed, his lips hungry on Jaskier’s. Jaskier managed a grunt of surprise before he was melting into Geralt’s arms. He sighed into Geralt’s mouth and willingly opened to an exploring tongue and questing fingers. “Say please,” Geralt murmured against his mouth, one of those delightful hands rubbing maddening circles into Jaskier’s belly.

He groaned and bucked up, wanting more. He was already hard, driven to panting like a dog for want of the Witcher’s body to cover his. “Hardly,” he scoffed, hooking a knee behind Geralt’s thigh. “I don’t beg with anyone, especially not fool-headed Witchers who think they don’t deserve - mmmfph!”

Jaskier lost all train of thought as Geralt’s fingers traced over a nipple, plucking gently on the puckered skin and the Witcher’s mouth found his once more. “Oh fine,” he gasped as those same lips slipped over his cheek and then down his jaw. “Please.”

* * *

Winter passed in a haze of snow and cold, but Jaskier was always warm at night, curled close to Geralt and usually sleeping off several rounds of pleasure they wrung from each other’s bodies. More than once Lambert had yelled at them to keep it down, but they often heard Eskel and Lambert’s cries from down the hall. 

“I’d like to think we’re taking the high road with them,” Jaskier muttered into Geralt’s neck after they heard Lambert yell a rather inventive string of curse words from Eskel’s room. Geralt just laughed and kissed him.

When spring arose with the sound of songbirds and the gentle breeze that made the pines sway, Geralt and Jaskier began mapping out a trail to the old Griffin fortress on the other side of the Continent. Jaskier had done such a good job with the Wolf library - a job that wasn’t truly finished, but was stable enough for a few seasons - that Vesemir had asked them to track down whatever was left from the destroyed Witcher schools. 

“It won’t be easy,” Geralt said, tracing a line marking the old kingdom borders; borders that had been obliterated and redrawn dozens of times since the last of the Griffins had been seen. 

Jaskier smiled. “I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge, Geralt.”

“Good.” Geralt looped an arm around Jaskier’s waist and kissed the side of his head. “We’ll set off in a few weeks, once we know the snow’s done.”

It took three weeks for the snow to subside completely, and the spring crocuses were bursting with color as they said their goodbyes to the others and led Roach and River, a horse they’d acquired for Jaskier from the nearby village. Jaskier gave one look back with a dramatic sigh, to which Geralt said, “We’ll be back by winter.”

“I know. But I came to love that place, as creaky and cold as it is.” He gave Geralt a winning smile. “Look what it got me.”


End file.
